


Ripples

by SummerLeighWind



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, POV Original Character, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerLeighWind/pseuds/SummerLeighWind
Summary: When she picked up that beaten-up pocket-watch on her colleague's desk, the last thing she expected was to find herself in 1969 Cokeworth, England.





	1. I

Walking a wavering line down a grime-choked street of an even dirtier town, she thinks, 'This isn't real.' Then, she pinches the fat of her arm. It creates a dull ache that vibrates through her flesh. "It's real," she whispers to herself. It's an odd thing, she thinks, time traveling. Even more so when you don't expect it. She knew being an Unspeakable would lead to some perilous situations, but this is leagues above her most crazed imagining.

Mild maimings? Almost a daily occurrence for those of her profession. Being turned into cats and growing budgie wings? Just a normal Thursday. Even someone losing a limb or the ability to speak nouns isn't too strange for their kind. This, though, is something else entirely.

Who knew something as innocuous as a pocket-watch could get her into a situation like this (though, she is beginning to come around to the idea the pocket-watch she'd picked up had in fact been a makeshift Time-Turner and Portkey)? Even worse, however, is knowing it's lost somewhere in the river of time. She doesn’t have the faintest idea how she’s going to return to 2037.

Maybe her colleagues will figure out what happened and bring her home. Maybe the Time-Turner Portkey combo will materialize in her hand and she'll be able to reverse it so that she return to the correct place in the space-time continuum. Maybe, Maybe, _Maybe._ She is not a religious woman, not like her father, but she prays to his (or rather, _their,_ ) God for help. Anything he can offer will do.

Suddenly, she's stopped by something pulling on the back of her robe. She turns. A little girl with vibrant red hair stares up at her.

"Yes?" she says.

The child, expression curious, asks, "Are you a witch?"

She does a double take of the child. She's dressed in a straight-cut dress made of blue-grey fabric. Daisy hair clips pin her hair away from her eyes. She looks very Muggle. She knows Muggle story books often depict her kind as she is dressed now (why, of all things, did she have to lose her wand along with the time-turner?) But she'd thought the dark hue of her robe was doing a very good job of fooling those around her into believing she is wearing a trenchcoat.

"No," she answers. There's still the Statute of Secrecy to uphold – even if she's some sixty years in the past.

The girl seems little discouraged by this. Instead, she says, "Okay. But if you're looking for Missus Snape, she lives that way." And she points behind her, in the direction she'd come from. Her heart hammers a little harder in her chest. All children learn of Severus Snape when studying the Second War. He was monumental to the light side's win (even if few liked him and most agreed he was at the very least unpleasant).

Can she truly have ended up in his childhood hometown? She turns her eyes once more on the girl before her. She's heard stories… Cautiously, she crouches down to the girl's height. The child really isn't all that much shorter than her, but she wants to make sure she was meeting the girl's gaze straight on as she asks her next question.

"Missus Snape, you say? Severus Snape's mother?"

The girl bobs her head. "Yes."

She puts her hand out for the child to take. "Would you mind leading me to her home? I need to speak with her." Though, that isn't quite the truth. What she wants from Missus Snape is her wand. It likely will be an ill-fit for her, but it will be better than having no wand at all.

The girl's face becomes uneasy. "'M not supposed to go that way," she whispers. "Daddy says Spinner's End isn't safe."

"Your friend comes from there, though," she says. She has little doubt who this girl is any longer.

Green eyes widen. "How d'you know about Sev and me being friends?"

"His mother and I are friends. She's written once or twice about you," she lies, feigning the warmest smile she can for the girl. "I promise as soon as you drop me off there, you can run right back to where you're supposed to be. No one will ever know." She winks, hoping it will win the girl over.

"I dunno…"

"Please? I'm already quite late. I would hate to upset Missus Snape further!"

Lily Evans bites her lip. "Okay."

"Thank you."

The girl places her hand in hers and she wraps her fingers around it. She thinks, 'How strange, I hold the hand of the savior's mother, yet it feels as ordinary as my own!'

Together, they walk down the street past ugly townhouse after ugly townhouse until they come to one that feels just a little different. It is still squat and gray and brick like all the rest, but there is a planter sitting by the door. In it grow scraggly plants she knows are used in potions. Healing ones, mostly.

"This is it," Lily tells her.

She smiles at the girl. "Thank you for bringing me here. All these homes look the same to me!"

The girl laughs at her remark. "Yeah, a bit."

Letting go of her hand, she says, "Off you go now."

Instead, the girl put her hands behind her back and rocks back on her heels. "If you're still keeping this a secret, would it be okay if I wait right here until Sev comes out? We were gonna meet up anyway."

She shrugs. Why not? "Sure," she replies. Then, walking up the brick path, she knocks on the door. A moment later, a little boy answers. He is skinny and his clothes hang off him and cling to him in equal parts. They are either too small or too big on his frame and she feels a pang of fear. Why, with magic and a wand, would his mother ever let him go out in public and walk around like this?

Merlin, please let her still have a wand. Let this not be all for naught. "Hello," she greets, putting on a smile she hopes looks more friendly than she feels it does. "Is your mother home?"

His beady eyes intensify. "You're a witch," he says.

"Yes, I am," she answers.

Severus's lips thin. "And you're dressed like one."

She can't help but roll her eyes. "Yes, luck has not been on my side today. I seem to have lost my wand."

He tilts his head and stares at her as if she is an idiot. She’s surprised at how scathing his glare is. Obviously, he's been practicing the deathly stare he was known for from a very young age. "What d'you expect my mum to do about it?"

She opens her mouth, then, thinking better of it, closes it. The two of them hold a staring match. However, it is soon broken by the sound of footsteps from behind her They both look. It is Lily.

"What're you doing?" she asks, confusion evident in her tone.

Severus's expression morphs into one of concern. "What are _you_ doing? You know your dad doesn't want you on Spinner's End! He said he'd make you stay on your street if he heard you came this way after last time!" He let his limp, black hair fall forward into his face, effectively cloaking what may have been a shimmer in his eyes. "I won’t see you again all summer if that happens!"

Lily points at her. "She said she wouldn't tell anyone that I helped her come here."

Severus makes a derisive noise. "You _believed_ her?"

"She said she was your mum's friend…" Lily mumbles, fingers going to pluck at the skirt of her dress. She feels for the girl. It’s her fault Lily now looks so dejected. If she'd the choice, she would have never tricked the child. Perhaps, later, she can ask Eileen Snape to have Severus apologize on her behalf to Lily. She doesn’t want any ill-will between Severus and her – not yet at least. That might change the course of history and ruin all that she knows if this festers.

Face stern, Severus tells her, "Well, she's not. Mum doesn't have _any_ friends."

"That's a rather rude thing to say, Severus. I rather like to think Missus Wroth across the street is a friend," a voice from behind Severus scolds.

The little boy goes stiff as a man under an _Immobulus_ before he quickly scuttles off to the left side of the threshold ( already planning his escape strategy, it seems). "Sorry," he whispers, eyes downward.

She stares at the woman who now stands before her. She is a grim figure. Tall, thin, and terribly pale with dark rings beneath her eyes. The drab dress and apron combo she wears do nothing but add to her sickly appearance. The woman, _Severus Snape's_ mother, gives her son a nudge outside.

"Take Lily back to her side of town. I'll take care of this."

Severus shoots past her, like an arrow released from the quiver of a bow. Snagging Lily's hand as he moves past her, he says to Lily, "Let's hurry. If we do, I bet 'Tuney won't even notice you were missing and tattle."

Lily casts one last glance at her, before nodding and hurrying after her friend. Soon, the two of them are gone from view. Turning her attention back to the woman in the doorway, she smiles.

"How do you do, Missus Snape?"

The woman crosses her arms, and much like her son, her beady eyes intensified their perpetual glare. "Who are you?"

She sighs. Running a shaky hand through the short, choppy locks of her pixie-cut, she says, "I'm Ruth Goldstein and I need your help."


	2. II

Missus Snape crosses her arms. She frowns at Ruth, expression sharp and conflicted. Finally, the rigidness leaves her jaw and she steps aside. "You may come in," she says. "But you may not stay long. My husband will be home in a couple of hours."

Ruth nods. She isn't really planning to stick around, anyway. Following Missus Snape into her home, Ruth can't help but let her eyes skitter over everything, from the yellowed wallpaper, to the beat up table holding a phone by the narrow, wooden stairs, to the short doorways leading to rooms she knows she'll never be allowed in. Ruth is so absorbed in taking every little detail of Severus Snape's childhood home she nearly runs into Missus Snape when she stops in front of one of the doorways.

Jumping back, she apologizes. "Sorry!"

The woman glares irritably at her. "Seen enough yet?"

"Um."

Turned toward her once again, Missus Snape gets so close Ruth can smell the lye soap she must bathe with on her skin. Eyes dark and furious, she hisses, "I do not take kindly to being lied to. If you are here looking to find out how far the Prince line has fallen you can leave _right now_."

Ruth throws up her hands. "That's not it at all!" she yells, stumbling back a step. Wishing once again for her wand, she pleads, "Look, can we sit down? Like civilized people and share a cuppa? I'll tell you everything!"

Missus Snape backs off a bit. She sniffs snootily. "Very well," she says. "If your explanation is not satisfactory I reserve the right to turn you into a toad."

Ruth chuckles weakly. "That's fair." But really she thinks it isn’t, Missus Snape is scary and she is beginning to see why all of her dad's horror stories from his early years at Hogwarts include Severus Snape. If he grows (grew)?  up to be anything like his mother, he has to have been the most terrifying professor to ever walk Hogwarts's halls.

Following Missus Snape into the kitchen, Ruth takes a seat in one of the mismatched chairs at the table in the center of the room. Gingerly resting her hands on the rough wood of the table, she watches as Missus Snape sweeps through the kitchen, efficiently filling a dented kettle with water the Muggle way and placing it on the stove before igniting the burner beneath it. A moment later, the woman slides into the spot across from Ruth.

Face impenetrable, she says, "The water will be hot in a few minutes."

Ruth nods.

Missus Snape's lips twist. "Well?" she asks.

She blushes and ducks her chin. Oh, Missus Snape expects her to start explaining _already_ . "Erh, well," she flounders. "This is hard…" It is, too. How do you explain to someone you are from some sixty years in the future (time travel isn't a new or even impossible concept to witches and wizards, but traveling this far back in time isn't exactly _normal_ ) and the only reason you have the faintest idea who she is is thanks to her spy-maybe-hero-too son?

"Try."

Ruth glances at the woman. Her brows have furrowed into a vexed expression. Panic welling in her chest, Ruth blurts, "I'm from the future!"

Missus Snape's eyes flutter wide for a moment. "Really now?" she murmurs. "You'd think you be more careful about sharing such dangerous information."

She lets her shoulders fall. "Yeah," she says miserably, "you'd think." Ruth begins to rub at a scratch in the table's surface with her pointer finger. "But I've never been a good liar. I'm great at omitting stuff, but I get the impression if I did that here I'd be a toad or worse in the next ten minutes."

"That is an astute observation," Missus Snape replies, smirking. Ruth marvels at how much younger it makes the woman look. Just how old _is_ Missus Snape? Ruth wonders. At first, she thought she had to be somewhere in her thirties, but now she’s beginning to get the impression Missus Snape may not be much older than her. Women used to marry young in the fifties and sixties, didn't they? Her mum's parents wed hardly a year out of Hogwarts and that had been in the _seventies._ As for her dad's parents…

Ruth wonders if her Uncle Joseph is born yet. If he isn't, he'll be soon. His birthday is somewhere in the mid to late spring, she knows.

"Tell me more," Missus Snape insists. "What's brought you to my home?"

Ruth runs a hand through her hair and sighs. "Honestly? I’m here because I don't have a wand. I've come to you in particular because Lily recognized I was a witch and told me her friend was Severus _Snape_ and I knew if I came here you'd have a wand that I could borrow."

Missus Snape nods. Then, almost hesitantly, asks, "You know my son? In the future?"

"I know of him," Ruth explains. "He's… He's in the history books as a hero."

Something close to delight livens Missus Snape's form from one of drab resignation to jittery relief. "That's…" she whispers, "thank you." She looks away from Ruth and to the window to the left of them, a far away cast to her gaze. "I've often worried about him. He's brilliant, but I've feared it won't be enough."

Ruth smiles, trying to appear happy for the woman before her, but really, she is hoping this doesn't lead to her being unborn. Surely a vague piece of reassurance won't have an effect so far reaching that it affects _her_ life, right? Oh, why did Ruth always have to be so terrible at keeping secrets?

"You may not have my wand, by the way," Missus Snape says before rising from her seat to get the shrieking kettle.

Ruth just stares at the woman's back as she prepares two cups of tea. After one of the cups is set in front of her, Ruth brings it close and breathes in the vaguely minty scent of it. "Is there any particular reason why? I do plan to return it as soon as possible."

"It's mine," Missus Snape replies. Dropping a cube of sugar in her drink she then says, "While I do believe _you_ believe you will return it, I have my doubts you will. Many things could happen between you taking it and you going back to your own time. If you have not noticed yet, this is not the home of a family with money. I would not be able to buy myself a new one suited exactly to me anytime soon." Meeting Ruth's gaze dead on, she continues, "And frankly, I'm not willing to leave myself and my son completely defenseless."

Ruth’s stomach rolls. "I understand." And truly she does, but she doesn't know what she’s going to do now…

Missus Snape sighs. "I'd like to offer an alternative solution if that is alright."

"Please do."

The woman caresses the chipped edge of her teacup. "I can lend you Muggle clothes for the night and see if Missus Wroth across the street will let you spend the night. I'm sure she will, she's terribly generous – if not a bit of a busybody. She should have an extra room. Her youngest son just moved out last month. In the morning, I can take you to Gringotts where we can retrieve some money I've put away and see if we can't find a secondhand wand for you in Knockturn Alley."

Ruth is overwhelmed by what Missus Snape is offering. It’s a terribly kind of her to being going to so much trouble for Ruth, a stranger. "That would be lovely!" she says. "Thank you, that is a perfect solution."

Missus Snape nods. Suddenly her eyes are very sharp as she tells Ruth, "There is one thing I'd like in return, however."

"Anything!"

Sitting up straight now, she says, "I would like you to retrieve my father’s pocket watch from my mother’s."

Ruth's heart stops. Oh, she was sure this was going to ruin her timeline. "I don't know. That might mess with the timeline."

"I would do it myself," Missus Snape explains, "but I fear for what would happen to me if she caught me. We did not part on good terms." Looking away from Ruth, she admits, "I ran away from home after my father died."

"Why?" Ruth asks, curious and confused.  Cutting ties with your family after the death of a loved one seems to her like the worst possible time to do so.

The woman's face twists with annoyance. "It is none of your business!"

Ruth shrinks back in her seat. Missus Snape's expression is terribly frightening. There’s something vicious about the way she bares her teeth at her. Briefly, Ruth wonders if Professor Snape had ever turned such an expression on her mother growing up. Her mother had been a Gryffindor _and_ had a horrible grasp on potions. "I'm sorry," she squeaks. "I didn't mean anything by it. I was just curious."

"Curiosity killed the kneazle," Missus Snape grumbles, settling back in her chair, her expression less frightening now and more grumpy.

Ruth nods, eager to move away from the touchy subject. "My dad used to tell me that all the time growing up."

Missus's Snape's lifts in a smirk. "So did mine."

Even though she can't be certain if she’s going overstep the line again, Ruth asks, "Were you a Ravenclaw too?"

"Slytherin," the woman replies. "As all Princes before me." She pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, expression softening as she whispers, "As Severus will be."

Her interest piques further at the chance to learn more about the controversial hero of her history book. Ruth asks, "How can you be so sure? He's what, eight? Nine?"

The woman's eyes take on a mirthful glint. "A mother knows." Picking her teacup up and drinking from it with the refinement of nobility, she eyes Ruth's disappointed countenance for a moment before saying, "But if you're looking for an example, I shall give you one. Slytherins are known for their ambition still in your time, yes?"

Ruth dips her chin in answer, too entrapped by the woman's expressive lips to answer verbally.

"Severus has already begun to teach himself potions from my old school books. Merlin knows where, but he's found a place to brew away from prying eyes. How do I know this you might wonder? I check my textbooks occasionally to make sure they're still safe. I've flipped through them a few times and have found he's scrawled notes and adaptations beside the existing recipes. I have no doubts, with the skills he already possesses, he'll earn himself a place in old Slughorn's club if he's so inclined when he arrives at Hogwarts."

Ruth whistles low. "That's mad," Ruth says. "In our time, erh, well, I guess as long as you don't tell _him_ this it won't matter, but he's pretty well known for his work with potions, in addition to being a hero. To think he was at it so early…" She smiles. "He's a right genius, isn't he?"

Missus Snape grins, proud as any other mother at such a compliment. "A bit."

Assessing that the woman’s probably in the best mood she can possibly get her in, Ruth finally asks, "Why is it exactly you need this watch now all of a sudden?"

Her expression becomes pinched once more. “With your presence, the opportunity to retrieve it finally has arisen. That is all.”

The bottom of Ruth’s stomach fell away. Fuck her, this is going to mess with the timeline, isn’t it?

(But she needs the help to get home).


	3. III

Missus Wroth is just as Missus Snape described. She is a longtime housewife and mother, her age and occupation showing in her wide hips and the no small amount of gray in her messily pinned away brown hair. Also as described, she can't seem to stop herself from pressing Ruth for more gossip.

“Abroad, you say? Where?” she asks.

Ruth reaches for the pot of tea Missus Wroth has just set down and pours a cup. “America.”

“My! How exciting! What were you doing there? How did you like it?”

She bites back the urge to scowl. Ruth is beginning to feel like this is an interrogation. “It was fine,” she replies crisply. Then, a sudden idea comes to her. Ruth makes her shoulders droop ever so slightly as she whispers, “But I would rather not speak of my time there. It was… It did not end pleasantly. My husband died in an automobile accident.”

Missus Wroth clucks her tongue sympathetically. “You poor chick!”

Ruth ducks her head. “Thank you.”

Abruptly, from above, a series of thumps sound. Missus’s Wroth’s face turns into one of irritation. She gets up and grabs a broom by the back door. She then jabs the ceiling with the wooden end. “Oi! You two keep it down!” Next Missus Wroth shoots Ruth an apologetic look, she says, “Sorry about the little ones. My eldest, Kathleen, needed to leave them here. She and her husband have a funeral to attend on his side of the family in East London.”

“It’s quite alright.”

“Do you have children?” Missus Wroth asks.

Ruth bites her lip. How far does she want to take this fabricated life of hers? Being a school-friend of Missus’s Snape, once living abroad in America and a dead husband seem like enough lies already. If she brought in a child or two, she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to keep all her fibs straight. “N-No,” she answers. “We wanted them, but…” 

Reaching into her apron, Missus Wroth pulls out a cigarette and lighter. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Ruth shakes her head. 

After lighting her cigarette, Missus Wroth takes a drag before saying, “Shame, that. Though it’s probably for the best, it’s quite hard, supporting a family without a husband.” Then, glancing at the window, she mutters, “Though, sometimes, even  _ with  _ a husband supporting a family can be difficult…”

Ruth wraps her hands around the warm ceramic of her teacup and leans in. “You’re talking about Miss – Eileen, aren’t you?”

“How much did she write to you about her troubles?”

Ruth considers how best to answer. She does have to factor in this getting back to Eileen sooner or later, after all. “Some, but she certainly downplayed the worst of it, I would say.”

“She’s a proud one,” Miss Wroth says.

Taking a sip of her tea, Ruth nods. That was the aptest description she's heard for Eileen yet.

-v-v-v-

Severus shows up at Missus Wroth’s door the next day at half-past eight. His hair is combed neatly away from his face and he wears a more or less clean woman’s blouse. Ruth suspects his mother has something to do with his outfit today (had she worried it would be Missus Wroth to answer the door?). She can't imagine Severus (or any little boy, honestly) wearing a woman's shirt by choice. Almost to prove this thought, from his scowl alone, Ruth can tell Severus's mood is even sourer than it was yesterday.

“Dad’s gone to work. Mother has sent me to fetch you,” he all but spits.

Ruth’s heart gives a little leap, excitement and relief warring inside of her. “Brill!” she exclaims. "Just let me–”

“Is that Severus Snape at my door?” Missus Wroth demands from the doorway of the kitchen, spatula in hand. 

Ruth sighs. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Invite him in for breakfast! Lord knows there’s more than enough to go around!”

She shares a look with Severus. “There’s toast, eggs, and ham.”

He shifts from foot to foot. “Mum said to be quick.”

“It’s only polite,” Ruth replies. “You wouldn’t want to make Missus Wroth feel poorly by saying no to her offer, would you?”

“No…”

Grinning at the boy, she gently grabs his elbow (ignoring the way he bucks at her touch) and says, “Then come on in!”

Reluctantly, Severus follows. Soon enough, they are seated side by side between Missus Wroth’s grandchildren, Cee-Cee and Harold. The two hardly spare them a glance as they continue to stuff their small mouths. Reaching over to the plates full of eggs and ham, she smiles at Severus and asks, “How much would you like?”

He only stares back, wearing a look of uncertainty that makes him look quite a bit younger than she knows him to be. “How about a bit of each to start? Then, depending on which you liked more, I can put another spoonful on your plate.”

Not waiting for an answer, Ruth serves him, then herself. Soon, Missus’s Wroth sits down and the two talk pleasantly about her and Eileen’s plans for the day (she fibs a little, saying they’ll be going a town over to shop a little). As she’s finishing her cup of tea, Missus Wroth’s husband, Ethan sits down. He looks at Severus, a faint twinkle to his eye.

“Oi, another one? I thought I told you no more strays after the last one, Mary.”

Severus’s stiffens, a mean little glint coming to his eyes. Ruth leans in and whispers, “He’s just joking, Severus. He’s fine with you – us – eating breakfast with his family.”

He relaxes, but nonetheless turns a dark look on her and mutters, “Usually, people aren’t.”

Ruth’s heart pangs for the child. If only she could tell him what he will become…

-v-v-v-

When they walk through Eileen’s front door, she is waiting for the two of them. Incensed, she grabs Severus by his hair and yells, "Where have you been? Missus Wroth is right across the street!”

“Hey!” Ruth shouts, grabbing onto Eileen’s arm. “Let him go! It’s my fault we’re late!”

Eileen doesn’t let go of her now quietly crying son, but the red in her face begins to drain away. “I don’t have time for dawdling, you know.”

Ruth lowers her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Finally letting go of her son, Eileen gives him a curt push toward the kitchen. “You can clean the kitchen today, young man.”

Dashing away his tears with the back of his hand, Severus says nothing as he disappears into his family’s kitchen. Frowning, Ruth can’t help but say, “I did say it was my fault.”

“He needs to learn who’s in charge. It’s certainly not you!” she snaps. Then, turning toward the stairs, she grumbles, “Now, come along. We need to dress for Knockturn and retrieve my wand.”

Ruth very much wants to argue more with Eileen, but bites her tongue. As much as she wants to help that little boy in the kitchen, she knows it is not her place – nor would it do the timeline any good. She’s messing with it enough as it is already.


	4. IV

Walking side by side with Eileen through Knockturn Alley, Ruth takes it all in with avid interest. Growing up, her parents had made sure she never stepped foot here. As an adult, she’s only visited a handful of times, each time with a purpose and little time to spare the occupants a glance. Now that she can finally look around with a wandering eye, Ruth is intrigued to note Knocturn is quite like Diagon Alley; full of shops, pubs, flats, and very busy. However, the activity around her is definitely of a more questionable variety than that of Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. She sees women and girls in revealing dresses drift in and out of doorways, occasionally striking a provocative pose for men who glance their way, teenagers – boys, really, – bunch together and drift apart in alleyways. They’re obviously up to no good, though, Ruth can’t be sure if they are selling things like the ladies or looking for easy targets among the people walking the street to steal from. There are those like herself and Eileen, walking briskly to some destination. But they, like Eileen, stare straight ahead and ignore the unsavory aspects going on around them. A few do watch what’s going on, mostly fruit and vegetable vendors, and their eyes are hawkish and expression’s tough. They  _ want  _ those boys in the alleyways to know they’re watching.

Suddenly, Ruth is yanked to the left. She looks to Eileen, who’s looking at a sign that reads  _ Borgin and Burkes _ hanging above a shop’s front door. “This is it.”

Ruth smiles. “This shop still exists in my time.”

Eileen shoots her a glare. “Hush!” she hisses as she throws the door open and pushes Ruth in. “You never know who’s listening in these parts!”

Thoroughly chastised at the woman’s words, Ruth hunches her shoulders and lets her guide manhandle her over to the counter. Shoulders squared back and eyes beady and demanding, she says to the middle-aged man behind it, “I would like to see the wands you have for sale.”

Unperturbed by Eileen’s tone, the shopkeeper continues polishing a dagger in his hand. Finally, after what feels like an age and a half, he sets it out on display on the wall behind him with a sticking charm.

“Don’t got many,” he says, looking between the two with a dubious expression.

Eileen raises her chin cooly and tells him, “That’s quite alright. We’ll see what you have. My friend is in need of a new one.”

He looks at them some more with his pale, judging eyes before squatting down behind the counter. A moment later, he pops back up, a fair-sized, polished wood box in hand. “Keep ‘em behind the counter,” he explains. “Wouldn’t want them in easy reach ‘round the shop for stealing and the like.”

It’s on the tip of Ruth’s tongue to ask why he doesn’t put anti-theft charms on them, but at the last moment, swallows the question, because getting a wand matters much more than satisfying her curiosity (and who knows how he might take the question too). The man unlocks the box and begins to pull out a small array of wands. Five are far shorter than a foot, three about a foot and a half and the last two hover just at a foot. Ruth’s stomach begins to churn. Oh, she hopes one of the last two will fit her. Her own wand is about that length and she fears anything too big or too small will end up being a complete dud. Reaching first for one of the two closest to her lost one’s old length, she gives it a little wave, hoping to make another wand levitate. Instead, the wand spits fire.

Dropping it in a hurry, Ruth breathes a sigh of relief when the shopkeeper quickly puts it back in his box. Taking up the other, she gives a delighted, shaky laugh when it does levitate another wand as she wanted. The wand’s not quite as high as she would have liked it to be, but the wand in her hand working at all is a miracle in her mind. Trying out a few other simple spells, she takes joy in the fact they work, even if they are all a little on the weak side. She’ll just have to push a little more magic and intent into her spells, she realizes.

“We’ll take it,” Eileen says, putting down a handful of galleons.

The shopkeeper sorts through the pile, pushing two back at Eileen before taking the rest and making a bit of change, which is again pushed at Eileen rather than handed to her (are all Knockturn shopkeepers this rude?).  “Pleasure doing business,” he says.

Ruth smiles at him as Eileen nods her head.  The two then hurry out of the shop, Eileen, (looking almost pretty with a smile playing at the corner of her lips), asks as they do so, “How does tea at White Wyvern’s sound?”

-v-v-v-

Finally cornered off at a small table against the wall of the pub, Ruth takes in their meager tea (wine for Eileen, Pumpkin juice for her, and a treacle tart to share) and then Eileen’s calm expression and realizes it’s time to ask why she must steal this pocket watch. Ruth is nervous. Yet she thinks she deserves an answer – the  _ true  _ answer at that. She’s risking so much more than Eileen can even begin to comprehend. As much as Ruth wants to lay it out for the woman, she can’t because it’s the  _ future  _ and Eileen is a part of the  _ past.  _ So she fights the swarm of snitches in the bottom of her stomach and asks while the other woman sips delicately at her glass of wine, “What’s so important about this pocket watch?”

Eileen looks at her over her glass, brows furrowing in a way that Ruth already knows to dread. They’re about to row, she feels it. Putting her glass down, Eileen cuts a bite from the slice of treacle tart they’re sharing and eats it slowly. Ruth does her best not to fidget and stares right back at Eileen, trying to insist with her face alone that she will not be fed lies.

“It’s engraved with, my father’s, his father’s, and his father’s father’s initials. It’s covering lid depicts the family crest. Anyone who’s anyone will know at a glance that it belongs to the Prince line.”

“Okay,” Ruth says slowly, trying not to feel daft as she asks again, “but  _ why  _ is it so important?”

Eileen’s expression begins to devolve into one of disgruntlement. “It is important Severus has it for when he starts his education at Hogwarts. Slytherin has a… Selective way about it. If your family is not firmly entrenched in the magical world, opportunities offered to you tend to become diminished. Severus carries his father’s name, even if Prince blood runs as strongly through his veins as it does mine. The watch will prove to all he’s not some Muggleborn or Half-Blood nobody, but the son of a proud line.”

Ruth bit back a sigh. She’s always known Slytherin is a bit of mess, but it sounds even worse than it was during her days at Hogwarts. “And I’m supposed to somehow take it from your mother’s home without her noticing?” she asks. “Are you sure this is the only option? I don’t… We have the timeline to think about.”

“I don’t care about your idiotic timeline,” Eileen replied primly. “All I care about is my son’s future.”

It’s on the tip of Ruth’s tongue to call her a selfish monster, to put her own wants above the good of the world is nothing if not disgusting, but then she thinks of her own parents. Wouldn’t they do the same? Put her above the world if they were in Eileen’s position? It pains her, but she thinks they just might. Her father especially was the type who’d move heaven and earth for those closest to his heart. Ruth massages her temples and thinks best how to explain to Eileen just how  _ integral  _ Severus is to the world she knows without revealing his whole story at the same time.

“You know how I said your son is considered a hero in my time?” she asks.

Eileen nods, a spark of pride brightening her dark eyes.

“He’s not the regular kind of hero, like a bloke who jumps in front of a curse to save a child or one that dies as a soldier in a battle, but the kind that is a complete game-changer. His role was so important in our world that if I were to change even one thing, like getting him this pocket watch, I’m afraid I’ll return home to a world that is completely opposite to the one I know.”

Eileen’s frown is back. But, now, there’s something thoughtful about the furrow of her brows. “What if…” she trails off. 

Patiently, Ruth waits. In that lapse of quiet her panic and thoughts begin to separate and she starts to properly  _ think _ . She has the wand now. She can  _ leave _ . She doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to. She could pretend that whatever Eileen tells her next is convincing enough for her to go through the plan of stealing that pocket watch for her and when they part, instead go to the Ministry and demand to speak to aurors and unspeakables and explain who she is. They’d help her in a heartbeat, she’s sure. If they’re anything like her, they’ll care just as much about keeping the timeline straight as she does. Yes, everything is going to be alright. All she has to do is wrap this row up with Eileen…

Abruptly, Eileen exclaims, “You might be the very reason he’s a hero!”

Ruth blinks. “Pardon?”

“You could be the very reason he becomes the hero you say he is. You could be  _ meant  _ to retrieve my father’s watch for him!”

For a moment, she stared incredulously at Eileen. Then, she puts her her head in her hands. Damn it all, this woman could be  _ right _ !


	5. V

Ruth decides to return with Eileen to Cokeworth in the end. She knows she promised, she knows it’s important to Eileen that she retrieve the watch, yet she also knows this could make or break the future she comes from. She isn’t a Gryffindor like her best friend, like her mother. She doesn’t jump head first into things. She’s cautious and thinks her paths through before deciding. Even so, she can’t help but frown in incredulity when Eileen puts out her hand upon reaching the front door of her home on Spinner’s End.

“Give me your wand,” she orders.

Ruth tightens her grip on the smooth wood in her palm. “Pardon?”

The woman rolls her eyes at her – as if _she’s_ the daft one **_._ ** “That wand was bought for you under the pretense you would use it to retrieve my father’s pocket watch. At the moment, you are doing no such thing. So, I want the wand back.”

Ruth presses her lips thin and thinks, ‘I could just apparate away right now.’

Eileen narrows her eyes and Ruth suddenly feels terribly uncomfortable, as if the woman in front of her is reading her mind. Stepping forward in a threatening manner, the other woman says, “I have disapparation wards on the house.”

She blinks. “How–” only to cut herself off before she can finish her question. Ruth _knows_ how. The woman performed legilimency on her! Balling her hands into fists, she growls, “How dare you!”

“You’re the one breaking your promise!” Eileen shouts back.

Ruth’s eyes go wide, livid and ready to hex this bloody bitch to next Sunday. “I am not! I don’t break promises!”

“Then why have you come back to Cokeworth with me?” Eileen demands.

Ruth is about to yell about the future and the delicate situation they’ve found themselves in when a small voice from behind says, “The kitchen is clean, Mother. May I go out?”

Her head swivels around to look at the tense little form standing just past the threshold of the door to the house. Eileen, for her part, does not look at all at her son. Instead, she continues to glare at the side of Ruth’s head as she replies, “You may. If I find you are lying, I will be telling your father when he comes home, Severus.”

Severus nods. “Yes, Mother.” Then, without another word, he closes the front door behind him and sprints past them to who knows where (Ruth puts her money on Lily’s house, or wherever they go to meet each other).

Sighing, Ruth lets her shoulders fall in defeat as she says, “Look, I came back here because I need to _think_. There are a lot of angles to be considering here. If you just wanted the watch for a sentimental reason, I wouldn’t be bothered at all to retrieve it for you. However… From the way you’ve talked about it, you plan to give it to Severus so he can raise his standing in Slytherin.

“I don’t know if I can abide by that. It might ruin the future–”

“–Or make the future you know!” Eileen buts in, face mulish and angry.

Ruth closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Right,” she says, “or make the future I know.” Offering her palms up to the woman across from her, Ruth asks, “Can’t you see at all where I’m coming from?”

Eileen looks away. “We should go inside. We need to change into Muggle attire before a neighbor comes by and gets an eyeful.”

Ruth lets her hands fall to her side in what would look like to any outsider as defeat. Yet, that is far from how Ruth feels. She has only known Eileen a short time, but she thinks she already understands her quite well. The change of subject is the closest to a “yes, I can” she’s going to get from the other woman. Eileen does not like to be wrong and will avoid saying she is at all costs.

-v-v-v-

Ruth laughs. Picking up the toaster she had transfigured from a clod of dirt outside, she hands it to Missus Wroth and says, “I don’t even know why I bought this. I don’t even like toast! I guess I got a little carried away…”

Eyes admiring as she inspects the clunky silver box, the older woman flashes Ruth a grin. “Oh, we all do that from time to time. If you don’t end up using it, I’m sure you’ll find the right person to gift it to eventually!”

She smiles back, thinking once more that she really likes Missus Wroth. There is no doubt in Ruth’s mind she is the nosiest bird she’s ever encountered, but it’s all very well meaning from what she has witnessed. She wants to know about Eileen to better help her when she finally decides to leave her husband (which she feels is inevitable, even if Ruth is uncertain). She likes to chat with the Donald’s family down the road because she knows what it’s like raising six children and when she hears they’re short on money for this or that, buys them more bread or pencils for the children and leaves it on their doorstep. She likes visiting with the Humphrey Widower on Butcher Lane because she knows it brightens his day and he likes to gossip with her because it makes him feel like he’s a part of Cokeworth and knows the people of it even though he can hardly leave his bedroom most days.

She’s such a good woman – perhaps even great – and Ruth knows as their chatter about her day out with Eileen comes to an end that Missus Wroth will be able to give her desperately needed insight on her current dilemma. Taking a page from her mother’s book, she dives head first into the conversation. “What would you do if you could give someone something that could change not only their entire life, but everyone’s lives? But what if you couldn’t be sure if that change would be for the better of not just them, but everyone in the world? What if it made that person’s life better, but ruined everyone else’s? Would you give it to them?”

Missus Wroth’s smile melts off her face. Expression serious, she begins to sway where she stands and turns her gaze to the world outside her kitchen’s window. “What if this something changed everyone’s lives for the better, including the receiver?”

Ruth does her best not to roll her eyes. Surely Missus Wroth sees the answer is an obvious one? However, the stretching silence tells Ruth the older woman is waiting, wanting to hear her answer. “Of course I’d give it to them then!” she finally exclaims, unable to hide her annoyance.

“How good are the chances, you think?” Missus Wroth continues, unbothered by her tone.

“For that good outcome, you mean?” Ruth asks, unsure if she’s understanding.

The woman nods. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“I’d say the chances for either outcome are fifty-fifty right now,” Ruth admits.

Missus Wroth makes contemplative noise and turns more fully toward the window. “What’s your gut say?”

Ruth’s mouth fell open. “I’m sorry, my _gut_?”

The older woman looks back at Ruth now, expression stony. “It seems quite obvious to me the math isn’t going to give you an answer, so what do you _feel_ , Ruth? Does the idea of giving this thing to this person tie your inside up in knots? Or does it feel like something you ought to do?”

Ruth pauses, thoroughly thinking over Missus’s Wroth’s words. She really isn’t the type of person who listens to her stomach. She’s always thought one made better decisions with their head rather than their heart, but since her mind’s failing her at present…

Ruth takes Missus Wroth’s advice. She considers Eileen and Severus. Eileen’s so prickly, so quick to lash out and think the worst, but, even so, Ruth knows a person would have to be blind not to see how much she loves her son. She only wants the watch to make his time easier at Hogwarts. Giving a little urchin like Severus that watch, a connection to a noble bloodline, will make him far more palpable to his snobbish housemates. And Severus…

Ruth knows him best from the history books she read as a girl. He’s a Death Eater, a hero, a contradiction. He died for love, but from all accounts nearly hated the very person he dedicated his life to saving. As for the little boy she’s briefly met… All she’s been able to think while watching him is he deserves better. A better home, a better life, a better  _ mother _ . 

As easy as it is to see from talking to Eileen that she loves Severus, she does very little to show it to the boy. She’s cold and hard and curt with him in all the ways that urge Ruth to report her to the proper authorities. A person shouldn’t treat their child like that. Even when around a stranger like her. It’s wrong, wrong,  _ wrong _ .

Ruth whispers, “He deserves a better life than what he has.”

Missus Wroth sits back down beside Ruth. “I think that’s your answer, dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know what you think with a comment and/or kudo :)


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